


beauty is pain (like, it really stings)

by laeveleve



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, Waxing, idk how to tag, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:00:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26976247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laeveleve/pseuds/laeveleve
Summary: Baz is having trouble with his chest-waxing routine. Simon is helpful as ever.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 15
Kudos: 72





	beauty is pain (like, it really stings)

**Author's Note:**

> Carry On Discord server, this one's for you. You're all terrible influences.

**_Simon_ **

I’ve just walked through the door, returning from my daily government-sanctioned exercise (a painfully boring half-hour-less walk around the local park), when I hear it —

A sharp hiss, muttered cursing. Coming from... the bathroom?

I drop my keys and my coat by the door and follow the sound down the hallway. “Baz?” I call out, a hint of concern creeping into my voice. “Are you okay?” 

I hear Baz mutter, _“Fuck._ _”_ from the other side of the bathroom door. “Snow. You were quick on your walk.”

What is he _doing?_

“It’s the same fucking park it was yesterday. And the day before, and the day before that. I got bored. What are you doing in there?” 

“Nothing.” Baz grunts. “It’s fine. Go away.”

I huff. Always so standoffish. Luckily, I’m stubborn enough that when he explicitly tells me to leave, I want to stay and bother him even more. “Can I come in?”

“No.” 

“Why not? Are you shitting?”

_ “No.” _

“Then why?”

There’s a pause. “I’m... naked.” 

“Seriously?” I snipe. “Baz. Remind me, how many times have I seen you naked? _Oh,_ that’s right. Too many to count.” 

More muttered cursing from the other side of the door. I think he’s cursing _me,_ now, instead. “Fucking hell. Fine, come in, you nightmare.”

I push open the door. He is, in fact, naked. From the waist up, anyway. And there’s something sticking to his chest. I frown. “What is that?”

Baz sighs. “A waxing strip. It’s surprisingly difficult to rip them off your own chest fluidly. The angle’s all wrong.” 

“I didn’t know you waxed your chest.” I really didn’t. His chest is usually smooth — I guess I just assumed that’s how it is naturally. _(Men can have naturally hairless chests, right?)_

“Of course you didn’t.” Baz says, frowning at himself in the mirror.

“Did you not want me to know? Is that why you were torturing yourself while I was out walking?” I’m not sure why exactly he’d want to hide his waxing habits from me, but Baz is like that sometimes. He’s vain. It’s idiotic — he’d look perfect even if his _whole body_ were covered in hair. 

“I like to leave some things a mystery, Snow. It makes a person interesting.” 

I hum. “Yeah, you’re right. Now that I’ve caught you waxing I’m no longer interested in you at all. In fact, you might want to ask your aunt for her spare room back.” 

Baz rolls his eyes at me. Then turns back to the mirror, and grimaces. 

I have to resist the urge to laugh. 

“Look, Baz. Do you want a hand?”

_“No.”_ Baz says, insistently. 

“Why not? Secret’s out. You’ve got nothing else to hide.”

He looks briefly like he’s experiencing some kind of inner turmoil. Like letting his boyfriend wax his chest is the worst thing he could possibly do. (Is he forgetting that I regularly let him stand in the bathroom and brush his teeth while I’m on the loo? I think it’s about time to even the playing field.) Then he closes his eyes for a second, and grinds out, _“Fine.”_

He turns to face me, and I realise that I actually have no idea what I’m doing. I tip my head and stare at his chest. “Wait. Lie down.” I say, placing a hand on his clavicle in a gentle push.

“What?”

“Lie down. On the floor. It’ll be easier.”

Baz grumbles something about lack of hygiene, but I think he’s fed up of arguing with me today — also, I can get him to do almost anything when I stand this closely to him. (Close enough to look up at him.)

He sits on the floor, then lays on his back, and I stare at him for a moment before swinging my leg over his torso and sitting myself right in the centre of his stomach. 

“Is this really how you want to do this?” Baz says, and I shrug. I don’t really know any other way to do it, to be honest. It’s not like I’ve ever waxed a chest before.

“Okay, so I just...” I take the corner of the strip between my fingers. 

“For the love of magic, just make sure you do it quick. It’s less painful that way.” Baz instructs, and I nod, frowning in concentration at the strip. 

Then I squint like I’m challenging it, and pull. 

Except, the waxing strip snags in the middle of Baz’s chest — “ _Aleister fucking Crowley!_ ” he hisses beneath me — and I have to give it an extra tug before it comes away. 

I sit there, holding the cursed thing between my fingers, while Baz curses like a sailor between my thighs. “Fucking hell, Snow, for the love of — _fuck_.” 

I grimace. “Crap, sorry.” 

“One fluid motion, Snow. Crowley.” 

I can’t resist poking at the freshly waxed skin, pink and smooth beneath my fingers. Baz swats me away like a particularly annoying fly. “I knew this was a terrible idea.”

“You weren’t exactly doing much better!”

“I can inflict pain on myself. I’m used to it. I do it every day when I have to get out of bed to do online classes while you sleep in till noon.” 

I roll my eyes at him. “Just keep still this time. You flinched, it threw me off.” 

“You’d flinch too if some oaf were ripping the hair out of your chest!” 

“Stop being so dramatic. Give me a new strip.” 

I press a second strip down onto his chest, smoothing it out over the hair. Baz watches me like he’s anticipating the pain I’m about to cause him. 

“Don’t flinch.” I say, gripping the corner of the strip. 

“Funnily enough, I can’t control my body’s natural reaction to pain.” Baz gripes.

I huff, and lean forward over him. I press my free hand into his left shoulder, holding him down — and hopefully still. 

Baz is looking up at me, mouth dropped open a little. (And he calls _me_ a mouth-breather.) “You know, it might be easier if I was distracted.” 

“You’re shameless.” I tell him. “I’m not putting myself in the line of fire. You might bite my head off if I get any closer.”

Baz shifts beneath me, and it makes the strip pull a little. “I still might.” He grunts. “Just get it over with.” 

I nod, and set my jaw. This is more difficult than I thought it would be. It’s not like I actually _enjoy_ holding my boyfriend down while I inflict pain upon him. I rip the strip off fluidly, this time, and Baz hisses as the hair is ripped away — but he doesn’t swear at me this time, and I think that means I’m improving.

I snort as I look down at Baz’s chest. Two strips of skin, hairless and smooth and redder than his skin is usually capable of being. 

“What’s amusing you so much?” Baz says as I run my fingers over his chest with a laugh.

“Nothin’. ‘s just funny.” 

Baz smushes his chin against his neck in an effort to see, and the way his chin doubles makes me laugh even more. He looks back up, narrowing his eyes at me. “Are you going to finish this job or have you decided just to laugh at me, now?”

“I’m not laughing at you, I—“ I cut myself off with a giggle. Baz is still frowning, but I think he’s fighting the urge to laugh with me. Sometimes, when I’m smiling, or laughing, Baz won’t be able to resist joining in; I think my happiness is contagious to him, sometimes. It’s fucking adorable. I love him. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll finish the job, I promise.” 

I meet his eyes, gazing up at me with a half-smile. I can’t resist leaning down and kissing him. “But I wanna do this, first.”

He doesn’t protest.


End file.
